


Fight Me

by srmiller



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellarke, F/M, Fighting Kink, Smut with a little bit of plot, bar brawl, blood king, established sexual relatonship, sort of, teeny bit of wells x harper because it's my fic and i ship what i want to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 21:18:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9460766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/srmiller/pseuds/srmiller
Summary: “You’re late.”“I wasn’t going to run red lights,” Clarke informed him pertly and hoped it would cover how incredibly turned on she was because, during the course of the five-minute drive from the bar to her house she’d imagined every possible way the night to go.Hard hands, ragged breaths, furious and wild until they were too exhausted to think.Nothing and no one had driven her quiet as mad as Bellamy after a fight.“You need stitches,” Clarke told him, trying to keep her voice even as his fingers worked at the button of her jeans.“Later Clarke.”





	

Clarke studied herself in the mirror and wondered if maybe it was time to change her hair. Or maybe that was the second shot after two mojitos talking. Washing her hands, she grabbed a paper towel and not trusting the sanitation standards of this particular bar she used it to open the door and immediately heard the ruckus.

She thought briefly thought about going back into the bathroom and just waiting out whatever was happening but she knew that no matter what was going on, her friends were more likely to be involved than not.

Moving through the Saturday night crowd Clarke followed the noise to the middle of the bar where Bellamy, fists clenched, jaw hard, looked ready to fight.

Just behind him was Murphy, his entire posture relaxed which Clarke knew was as dangerous as a loaded gun. She grabbed his elbow when she got close enough and when he looked down at her he managed to look both relieved and irritated.

“Thank God, maybe you can stop your boyfriend from continuing this stupidity.”

Clarke didn’t bother to correct Murphy that Bellamy was not her boyfriend, if it hadn’t worked the first three hundred times she’d told him, three hundred and one wasn’t going to make much of a difference.

“What the hell is happening?” There was a circle of people, drinks still in hand, giving Bellamy and the tables surrounding him space. 

“Don’t know,” Murphy shrugged. “Ask him.”

Clarke couldn’t say she was particularly shocked Murphy was prepared to fight without knowing the reason why, but when she looked around Murphy and saw Wells she was more than a little surprised.

He was standing with his feet shoulder width apart, hands on hips, every muscle tensed and coiled. She’d never seen him so ready to fight in her life. “Wells?”

He looked over at her raised voice and when he spotted her he moved closer so he could talk directly into her ear. “This guy tried to make a pass at Harper and seemed be under the impression ‘no thanks’ meant ‘take me on the pool table.’”

“Where is she?” Clarke asked as looked around the bar for the blonde.

“Raven took her outside after she kneed him in the balls,” Wells explained and there was such a note of pride in his voice Clarke barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Okay, so why does Bellamy still have his ‘fight me’ face on?”

“Balls over there had a couple of friends who now feel they have to defend his honor and Bellamy voted himself to take them on,” Murphy explained lazily, tucking his hands into his pockets and rolling back slightly on his heels.

“And you guys are just going to let this happen?”

Murphy’s head tilted in the way it did when he thought everyone around him was stupid. “I said, ‘dude, are you sure about this’ and he seemed pretty confident in his decision.”

With a growl, she walked into the middle of the confrontation and saw a guy leaning heavily on a table and Clarke guessed he was the one who had mistakenly hit on Harper. To his right two other guys were standing, chairs kicked over and beer glasses broken on the floor.

Oh good, she thought dryly, no bad decisions happened while drunk and in public. “Hey, guys.”

“Clarke, get out of the way.”

She ignored Bellamy’s suggestion and held up her hands. “I just thought I’d see if the testosterone in the room might have any space left for common sense.”

“That bitch-“

“I’d stop right there, if I were you.”

Clarke glanced at Bellamy, recognizing the low rumble in his voice as an indication of danger ahead. Naturally, the over grown frat guys rearing for a fight had no idea what they were getting themselves into.

They may have danced in a few fights, but Clarke doubted they’d ever been in the kind of brawls Bellamy had walked away from in his youth.

“Oh, would you?” the tallest guy asked, stepping forward. “Is this bitch yours? Maybe I’ll buy her a drink after I’m done wiping the floor with you.”

“You know what?” Clarke asked, taking a step back. “I’m going to let this take its course and hope you fellas have decent insurance.”

Bellamy smirked as she stepped out of the line of fire. “Giving up on the peace talks, princess?”

Clarke pointed to the guy who was wearing a football jersey and had just called her a bitch. “That dude’s left handed.”

Bellamy winked at her a second before Football swung the first punch and after that, it was pretty much a free for all between the six guys.

She’d seen them all fight before, she wasn’t really sure if every group of friends regularly participated in Saturday night brawls, but at one point or another they’d all ended the night bloodied, bruised, and victorious.

Wells wasn’t much a fighter, a pacifist by nature he mostly blocked punches and dodged. Over the years, Wells figured out if his opponent threw a punch and missed over and over they’d either get frustrated and sloppy, or exhaust themselves until a single punch or two would keep them down.

Murphy was a wild card. His long limbs gave him an extended reach but he was too lazy to put more than the minimum amount of effort into a punch and if the first few swings didn’t knock his opponent down he tended to pick up the nearest object and used it.

Bellamy, on the other hand, knew how to fight and was damn god at it.

He held his boxer’s stance as one guy came towards him, Bellamy ducked to get under the man’s arm and landed a well-placed punch to the man’s kidneys.

Bellamy grunted as a fist hit him on the cheek, and for a moment he looked dazed and Clarke was briefly worried he’d get himself seriously hurt with a guy nearly half as big as him but he took a step back to reorient himself and shared a wild and reckless grin with Murphy before stepping back into the fray.

“What are these assholes doing?”

Clarke looked over to see Raven and Harper had come back inside, likely drawn back in by the noise. “They’re not defending my honor, are they?” Harper asked as she watched the scuffle with a neutral eye. “Because I took care of that already.”

“No. Apparently, your admirer’s friends are defending his honor.”

Harper nodded sagely and pulled out her phone. “Ah, well that makes sense. Are we winning?”

“Yeah, I think so. Are you filming this?”

“I’m thinking of starting a youtube channel. Delinquents in Bars, or something like that.” Harper explained before she grabbed Clarke’s arm hard enough Clarke flinched. “Is my boyfriend fighting?”

“Reluctantly,” Clarke admitted. “Mostly he’s bobbing and weaving.”

The grip on Clarke’s arm relaxed enough she got her limb free, but for good measure Clarke took a small step away. “Good, I like his face and I don’t want it to get messed up.”

“Bellamy’s not so worried about that,” Raven murmured as Bellamy wiped blood off his cheek.

“He’s going to need stitches,” Clarke grumbled.

“Scars are hot.”

“Not when they’re easily avoidable by basic common sense.”

“You didn’t try to talk him out of it?” Harper asked as she winced when broke a chair on a guy’s back.

Clarke calculated the cost of damages and wondered how broke this fight was going to leave everyone by the end of the night. “For about a second but then the one with the broken nose called Harper and me a bitch so I figured they were on their own.”

“Shit,” Raven muttered. “Bellamy’s going to kill him.”

Clarke wasn’t entirely certain that was an exaggeration, because when Bellamy fought he could often be brutal. He’d told her once fighting gave him a kind of clarity, made him feel alive in a way few things ever did.

So when he threw his punches there was as much rage as finesse in the swing.

“Fuck me,” Clarke muttered as Bellamy threw punches in row, knocking his opponent to the ground.

“What was that?” Raven asked and Clarke just shook her head.

Murphy’s foe had blood on his face and was holding his arm like it might be broken while Murphy himself swung a chair leg casually in a circle.

“Someone should call Emori,” Harper suggested, phone still in hand. “I know she’s at work but she’ll probably want to know if Murphy gets arrested.”

“He’s not getting arrested,” Raven argued, and she sounded at least a little disappointed about the fact.

“Yay, Wells won, I’m going to make sure he’s okay.” Harper turned off her phone and slid it into her back pocket before picking through the mess and finding her way to Wells.

Bellamy was still talking to the guy on the floor who seemed to be hissing something up at him and Clarke watched his eyes go hard and dark and he pulled and let loose a punch loud enough Clarke heard the impact as the guy hit the floor.

“Oh shit, did he just knock that guy unconscious?”

“We should probably go,” Clarke replied. “Will grab Harper and Wells? I’ll send Murphy out and get Bellamy.”

“Better than you me,” Raven muttered and moved through the crowd to get their friends.

Clarke put a hand on the chair leg Murphy still held and pulled it out of his hand. “Go, you’re still on probation and if you get arrested for getting in a fight Emori will kill you.”

Murphy didn’t hesitate to leave, but did kick the guy in front of him on his way out.

“For heaven’s-“ Clarke started but stopped when someone grabbed her.

It was Bellamy, all heavy breaths and glistening sweat, his hand hard around arm. “Your place, five minutes.”

“Bellamy, I-“

“Your place in five minutes, or the alley right now.”

Clarke swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “You have my key.”

He nodded and walked past her and Clarke was left feeling slightly dazed from the sudden loss of blood to her brain. She knew what he meant when he asked to meet her, there was only thing a look that heated and a gaze that brazen could mean.

After a fight, there was only one thing either of them wanted.

Clarke took a deep breath and tried to steady herself and walked out into the cooling spring night and saw most of her friends gathered around the entrance.

Bellamy was nowhere to be found.

“I assume this means the night is over?” Raven asked cheerily. “Because I don’t know if anything else we do tonight can beat that.”

“Yeah,” Clarke agreed, the soft breeze cooling her warm cheeks. “I’ll see you guys later, I’m going to head home.”

Everyone waved goodbye, Wells throwing his arm over Harper’s shoulder, Murphy on the phone as he headed to car. “Raven, do you need a ride?”

“No, I called a cab as soon as the first punch was thrown. It should be here any second.”

“I don’t want to leave you here by yourself.”

“I’ll be fine, I’ll text you when I get home. I’ll see you later.”

“If you’re sure?”

Raven rolled her eyes. “Go.”

Clarke nodded and hurried towards her car, throwing into drive and parking outside her little condo.

Bellamy’s truck was parked on the street, a light was on inside.

She opened the door and didn’t further than a step before Bellamy was pushing her against the door, effectively shutting it behind her.

“You’re late.”

“I wasn’t going to run red lights,” Clarke informed him pertly and hoped it would cover how incredibly turned on she was because, during the course of the five-minute drive from the bar to her house she’d imagined every possible way the night to go.

Hard hands, ragged breaths, furious and wild until they were too exhausted to think.

Nothing and no one had driven her quiet as mad as Bellamy after a fight.

“You need stitches,” Clarke told him, trying to keep her voice even as his fingers worked at the button of her jeans.

“Later Clarke,” he ordered as he slipped his hand inside her pants, but over her underwear.

She pressed her hands against the door behind her, trying to hold onto sanity for as long as possible.

“Sometimes I think you get into fights on purpose.”

“Why?” he asked with a smug grin as he cupped her through the cotton she knew was already damp from watching him fight, from the long drive imagining all the things they’d do to each other. “Because it turns you on? Because every time I do, you jump me like it’s your last chance? You’ve got a kink, princess.”

It had been a startling realization, one which she’d had a few years back when Murphy and Bellamy had met while beating each other nearly senseless. She and Bellamy had already known each other for a year and had been comfortable in their sparring friendship but then she’d seen him fight for the first time and things had turned, quite suddenly, on a dime.

At the time, Clarke had convinced herself it was a one off, she’d broken up with Finn months before and it had been a while since she’d gone to bed with anyone. But then the next time, and the next, over the course of two years Clarke couldn’t deny the visceral, sexual reaction at seeing Bellamy fight.

Then one night a year ago Bellamy had fought, and Clarke had wanted, but instead going home and getting herself off Clarke had driven Bellamy back to his house since she was worried he had a concussion. He’d kissed her in the car, hard and demanding and Clarke’s response had been shameless. They’d barely managed to get inside before tearing off their clothes, Bellamy getting Clarke off with his fingers before he pressed her into the mattress of his bed.

The next time had been in the bathroom at a house party and one very memorable night when she and Bellamy had both had one too many shots and they’d done exactly what he’d threatened tonight.

Sex in a back alley, Clarke would blush if she hadn’t enjoyed it so much.

“I fucking hate you,” she bit out even as she arched her hips into his hand, desperate for any kind of friction.

He moved is finger just a fraction of an inch, and she was turned off enough even that was enough to incite a gasp.

“Bellamy.”

He pressed a kiss to her neck, just below her ear and she could feel the ragged rhythm of his break against her skin. It was a heady feeling to know he was wrecked as she was with barely any contact between them.

Clarke reached out grabbed the edges of Bellamy’s jacket, pulling him closer before shoving the leather off his shoulders.

Sensing her urgency Bellamy removed his hand and pushed her jeans over her hips and down legs. Clarke kicked off her shoes and pants while Bellamy threw his jacket on the floor, tugging off his shirt when Clarke pushed it up.

“Here?” Bellamy asked, his voice rough and low as Clarke pulled her tank over her head.

“Here,” Clarke answered, reaching for him as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

On the floor, where jeans let discarded, her phone vibrated.

“Do you need to get that?” Bellamy asked he ran a rough hand over the lace of her bra, his thumb catching on her nipple.

“No, it’s Raven letting me know she got home safe.”

When she kissed him there was bite to it. His response was a hard and unrelenting touch which drove her back against the wall hard to make a sound.

 _This, this, this,_ Clarke thought frantically as she ran her hands through his hair, then down his spine with fingernails sharp on his skin.

He gasped and his bruised on her hips but they’d already had this conversation once before.

Neither of them stop till someone says red.

“Clarke,” his voice barely formed words but Clarke understood them. “Take off your bra.”

She fumbled with the clasp at her back and dropped it on the ground moments before Bellamy’s hands covered her breasts. Clarke’s breasts had never been particularly sensitive but she enjoyed Bellamy’s possessive hands kneading them, his lips traveling down her neck and chest until his mouth covered one of her nipples.

Clarke took one his hands and guided it between her legs and when she did he released her breast, switching their grip until he held her wrist in his, cuffing it against the door.

“Clarke,” he warned.

“Please,” she implored.

“Tell me what you want, princess.”

The blood was drying on his cheek, the knuckles of the hand that held her wrist were cracked and there was a bruise on his jaw and she was fairly certain she’d never wanted anyone more than she did right now.

She hadn’t known this kind of desperation existed.

“I want your fingers. I want your dick.” She paused, made sure he was looking into her eyes when she added, “I want you.”

Bellamy’s eyes flared, so dilated all she could see was black.

“Fuck, I wanted you so bad all night, Clarke.”

He sucked a bruise onto her breasts and she couldn’t find it in her to mind. “You always want me after you fight.”

His grin was a little wicked and she felt her heart stutter in her ribs. “No, Clarke. From the moment you walked into the bar I wanted you. When you went to the bathroom I was half a beer away from following you.”

Clarke had a quick flash of Bellamy barging into the single stall bathroom at the bar and taking her on the sink and yeah, it would have stupid but the idea was hot as hell.

“You didn’t have to get into a fight to into my pants,” Clarke told him.

“That was just a plus,” he grinned, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a condom and pressed into her palm.

“You planned for this?”

“Hoped for,” he admitted. “Now, I’m going to fuck you princess and I’m not going to be gentle about it.”

It was a warning but instead of stepping back, it made her want more. His hands pushed down her underwear, his fingers finding her hot and wet and she didn’t bother to hide the sound of pleasure from her lips, knowing it would only spur him on.

“I want you too much right now to go slow so you’re going to have to hold on to me.”

He drove her up and up, almost brutally high before she shuttered against him and he didn’t more than five seconds to recover before he was lifting her by the hips. Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist.

“Fuck, Clarke. You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

She tore the condom’s wrapper and slid it over him and enjoyed the hiss of pleasure she heard from his lips. “Now. Bellamy, please.”

He didn’t seem to need any more incentive, sliding into her and from there everything just went white.

It was everything they’d ever been to each other, reckless and challenging and desperate.

They’d always been just a little bit desperate for each other.

She could feel herself getting close, the precipice almost painful she wanted it so bad. “Bellamy, please, I need… _Bellamy._ ”

He reached down and found her clit, his thumb pressing against her and she shattered against him, doing as he told and holding onto him while she fell.

A few more moments later, Bellamy followed and she heard his head fall hard against the door beside her.

“Jesus fuck, Clarke.”

“Yeah,” Clarke agreed as she tried to catch her breath. “Yeah.”

 

 

Half an hour later they’d taken a shower together, Clarke so lethargic Bellamy had laughed and offered to wash her hair for her. She never turned down an offer to have someone play with her hair so she’d nodded and let his fingers work up a lather in the tangles of her hair.

“I wasn’t kidding about the stitches, you know.”

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, “Not a chance.”

Clarke turned to face him, the water having washed the dirt which had dried on his cheek. Leaning forward to get a better look she inspected the cut. “The guy had some kind of frat ring, didn’t he?”

“Asshole.”

Clarke laughed, “If you’re not going to let me stitch it-”

“I’m not.”

“-Then at least let me put a butterfly bandage on it after I clean it.”

“I’m in the shower Clarke.”

“The water was my first clue,” she quipped back. “And it doesn’t count. I’m serious, Bell.”

She only ever used the nickname when she was serious about something and after a moment of studying her to see how stubborn she was going to be about this, he gave in. “Fine.”

“Wonderful,” she turned to the spray to wash out the shampoo, appreciating Bellamy’s help when he gave it without her having to ask.

“I’m going to get my stuff, is there blood on your shirt?” she asked as she stepped out of the shower. “Should I wash it?”

“Yeah, wasn’t really paying attention to my shirt Clarke.”

She handed him a towel with a smirk. “Fair enough. I think I have a sweatshirt I probably stole from you at one point. I’ll dig it out and then we’ll take care of your cheek and then I’m passing out. Too much adrenaline for one night.”

Bellamy nodded and Clarke took her towel to her room to dry off and get into some clean clothes and by the time she’d grabbed her medical kit Bellamy was wearing his jeans and the sweatshirt she’d given him.

“I want that back by the way,” she told him as he sat cross legged in the middle of the bed.

“It’s mine.”

“Not anymore, possession in nine-tenths of the law.”

“I’m currently wearing it,” he pointed out dryly.

“Huh. I didn’t think about that.”

“I might still give you to anyway if you’re nice to me.”

Clarke snorted. “Well, I think we can both consider the sweatshirt yours then.”

“Cool.” She could feel Bellamy watching her as she settled on the bed across from him in her sleep shorts t-shirt. “You know, I was thinking.”

“What part of tonight were you thinking?” Clarke asked as she pulled a few things from the bag. “Because I saw no evidence of it.”

“Are you going to mock me, or listen to me?’

“Do I have to pick one or the other?”

“Yes.”

Clarke sighed dramatically as she put peroxide on a cotton swab. “Fine, I’ll listen.”

“Shit, fuck Clarke.”

Clarke dropped the cotton swab on the bed beside her and shook her head as she tried not to laugh. “You literally took a punch to the face and this hurts?”

He muttered something under his breath. “Anyway.”

Clarke smiled and pulled out the butterfly bandages and scooted closer to get a better angle. “Anyway?”

“I was thinking, this is good, right? We’ve never talked about it because it never really needed to be said, but the sex is good.”

“The sex is good,” Clarke confirmed as she added a white strip to his cheek and inspected her work.

“And we like each other.”

This time the statement sounded more like a question so Clarke nodded, “Yeah. Except for the like, the first five days after we met each other.”

“But other than that, we’re friends and we like each other and we have great sex.”

Clarke added the second bandage and looked at Bellamy. “What are you getting at?”

“I’m working up to asking you out,” he admitted, a little sheepish which is absurd because an hours ago he’d fucking her against the front door and ten minutes before that he’d been beating some guy’s ass into the wall.

There was a half a moment of stunned silence in Clarke’s head before she met Bellamy’s uncertain gaze. “Asking me out?” Clarke asked, her voice coming out slowly like she hadn’t heard him properly. But she had, he said he wanted to ask her out. Like on a date. Which meant he was interested in her as more than an on-again off-again fling and now that she thought about it…that’s what she wanted to.

“Doesn’t that seem like going backwards?”

Bellamy looked confused. “I don’t-“

“Going out is for people who need to decide if they like each other enough but we’ve already established we like each other.”

“Yeah.”

“So why don’t we skip the dating part and just.. I don’t know. Go steady.”

He smirked, “Go steady?”

Clarke punched. “Shut up, I didn’t know how else to put it.”

“I forget, do I give you my class ring or my letter man’s jacket?”

“You’re such an asshole.”

He wouldn’t stop grinning. “Yeah, but apparently I’m your asshole so good job on that one.”

Clarke grinned back, _hers_ did have a pretty good ring to it. She held out of her pinky finger because she knew it was the most important way to make a promise or seal deal for a Blake. “Boyfriend/girlfriend until someone calls it quits.”

He wrapped his pinky around hers. “Boyfriend/girlfriend until one of us murders the other.”

With a laugh Clarke leaned forward and kissed him. “I’d say let’s have celebratory sex but I think we already did and you remember the part about me passing out.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

When he moved to get up Clarke grabbed his hand. “I think I have some sweats in that bottom drawer over there unless you just want to sleep in boxers.”

He looked stunned for a second. “Yeah, cool.”

Clarke got up and pulled the sheets back and got comfortable on her pillows and when Bellamy climbed into next to her she just took a second to stare at him. “Miller’s going to flip.”

Bellamy snorted and shifted on to his stomach. “So will Octavia.”

“Oh, shit. I forgot about your sister. I totally take it all back.”

“Too late, already pinky swore.”

Clarke sighed dramatically. “Damn it, I guess I’m stuck with you.”

Behind her closed eyes she could hear the smile in Bellamy’s voice. “Guess so.”


End file.
